Kind of a Blog Post About Dating, Mostly a Video of Me Singing a Dixie Chicks Song

Recently some readers have been inquiring about my dating life, which, contrary to the fact that I haven’t really blogged about it in nearly nine months, has not disintegrated entirely into a never-ending loop of me eating bagels and watching the OWN Network with the affirmation “I give up on men but it’s fine because Oprah completes me” pinned front and center to the cork board of my sad, sad manless mind.

No, it’s been quite the opposite. Really I just cooled it on the confessional dating posts because I got sick of being held accountable to the identity of Thirsty Writer Who Can’t Find Love. The line between my art and my life had gotten a little too blurry. (Also, furry.) (And a lot like jury.) (Duty.)

(…What the fuck just happened?)

I think during the golden era of Jilted-Insecure-What-Is-Love-BABY-DON’T-HURT-ME blog posts, what I was really looking for was some kind of external validation and/or magical cowboy to sweep me off my feet and make all my problems go away. (Because #ThatzHealthy.) The reality of actually settling down and committing my time and energy to the happiness of another human being and having to deal with things like “sacrifice” and “compromise”? LOL. No. The first option required much less effort and made for better writing material.

I came to this epiphany earlier this year after I finally stopped looking for that cowboy and then a bunch of dudes fell for me at the same time and it made me feel like almost as much of a douche bag as I do for typing this sentence right now. You know those surreal phases where you become a man-magnet and the more men want you, the more other men want you? And your life becomes a real-world version of The Weather Girls’ timeless classic “It’s Raining Men,” until finally you’re like, “Wait, I think I wanna just go inside now. Or at least whip out an umbrella,” because you’ve lost the ability to give a shit? It was one of those.

Mancloud

Which is why now I’m not really wasting anyone’s time by trying.

Instead I’ve just been living and focusing on things that I love already – my family, my friends, my writing. My newfound interest in singing random country songs while shittily playing guitar. Of course I’ve loved being in relationships in the past, and if another one happens to come my way soon and it feels organic and right and not at all like suffocating, then awesome.

But as for the idea of longing for a magical cowboy to sweep me off my feet and make all my problems go away? I’m over that shit. It makes for better art than it does an actual way of life.

 

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And Here’s the Douchiest OkCupid Profile EVER

In case you missed it, I recently wrote about how I advertise the fact that I’m a fast pedestrian on OkCupid because it seems like the least douche-y option for my “I’m Really Good At” section. But then just for ha-ha’s I went on this whole tangent about what I’d put in that section if I were a total douche canoe, and it was kind of the best thing ever.

I mean, this:

Screen shot 2014-03-03 at 8.24.16 PMBecame this:Screen shot 2014-03-03 at 9.04.04 PM

I don’t know what this says about me as a person, but coming up with that second one was actually the most fun I’ve had in about a fortnight. And so with that in mind, I thought it’d be awesome and probably a little revelatory to sarcastically remake my entire profile in the voice of the Biggest Dick Ever* as part of an imaginary game show I just made up in my head called If I Were a Douche.

Douche

Shit. I just realized I got so carried away with all the O’s that I forgot the U in “Douche.” I’d fix it, but lately I’ve been trying to do this thing where I embrace my imperfections. (Thank you, ekgo.)

So here we go.

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 11.57.34 AMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 11.59.42 AM

Me: Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.00.54 PMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.03.08 PM

Shit. Did I just learn something new about myself?

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.03.44 PMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.04.00 PM

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.05.03 PMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.06.23 PM

Wow. I’m never starting a sentence with the word “also” in a dating profile ever again.

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.06.54 PMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.07.55 PM

Okay, Me as the Biggest Dick Ever* is getting kind of annoying – and also a little nonsensical. Chimneys? WTF?

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.08.47 PM

Me as the Biggest Dick Ever*:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.09.02 PM

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.09.28 PMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.09.48 PM

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.11.01 PMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.13.49 PMListen, Me as the Biggest Dick Ever,* you can stop filling out this profile at any time. No one is forcing you to carry this task out to completion. Also, did you just ridicule my entire career as a blogger?

Me:Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.16.54 PMMe as the Biggest Dick Ever*:

Screen shot 2014-03-16 at 12.18.46 PM

OMG but seriously, remember the AOL-butt?

*I realize that, if taken out of context, the name “Biggest Dick Ever” takes on a whole other meaning. So I thought that I should asterisk it every single time it came up in this post. Just so you know that I know.

 

I’m a Fast Pedestrian with Angry Thoughts, but at the End of the Day I’m Spiritual So It’s All Good

One of the things I advertise on my OkCupid profile is the fact that I can walk really fast through crowded urban streets.

Screen shot 2014-03-03 at 8.24.16 PMIt’s not that I’ve ever been particularly proud of this ability – frankly, there are many other, more important things that I can do well – but “walking briskly in New York City” was really the only answer I could think of for that question that didn’t make me sound like a pretentious douche bag who looks in the mirror on an hourly basis and probably has a pet name for his penis. Because that’s nobody’s type.

(Although now that I think about it, I have been involved with or know more than a few of those kinds of dudes. And they never seem to run into any problems getting laid. So maybe I’m wrong and that’s actually everybody’s type?)

(Holy shit. I think I just figured out why I’m single.)

(Hold on…)

Screen shot 2014-03-03 at 9.04.04 PMOkay, I’m ready for all the men to want me now.

(Side note: While the above answer is of course a joke, I did have to change my real-life profile to that for about twenty seconds in order to secure the screen shot. And it was the most anxious, frightening, and uncomfortable – and yet oddly invigorating? – twenty seconds of my life.)

Moving on.

Wait, where was I going with all of this anyways?

Oh, slow people. So I started writing this post from my seat on the commuter train, because basically I had to zigzag my way through an army of molasses-paced pod people at Grand Central Station to get there, and it was so fucking annoying because everyone loves to walk in every which direction while being all “I’m slow and I wear mittens” while I’m just internally like, “ARGH! GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY AND LET THE TALL GUY THROUGH SO HE CAN GO HOME AND DRINK WINE AND GOOGLE LYRICS TO NINETIES POP BALLADS AND FANTASIZE ABOUT BEING FRIENDS WITH OPRAH AND VENT ABOUT HOW SLOW YOU ARE ON HIS BLOG.”

But then I started writing, and then that whole OkCupid introduction turned into a way more involved tangent than I had originally intended it to be, and so by the time I was ready to get into how enraging slow people are, the frustration had worn off and my desire to angrily rant was (mostly) diminished. And then I reminded myself that having to deal with dawdling pedestrians is small. fucking. potatoes compared to the real issues in the world (potato famines, for instance), and we are all cut from the same divine thread of oneness and so really I need to be spreading love and light to everyone — even people with shorter legs than me.

Wow. I’m pretty sure this entire post just turned into like, a deep lesson in perspective, love, forgiveness, and the Golden Rule, all at the same time. You’re welcome for the wisdom.

Now move.

 

I’m Becoming Rational and It Feels Weird (but Good-Weird?)

Last month I met up with my very talented writer buddy Steven to talk about our querying woes. In the middle of the cheesecake portion of our meeting (because with me, there’s always a cheesecake portion, and yes, I’m a Golden Girl), I got a call from a dude I talked to on OkCupid late last year, stopped talking to early this year, and then recently started talking to again in September.

He was calling to plan our much-delayed first date. He suggested hiking, I agreed, and then I hung up and analyzed the fuck out of the situation with Steven, because me.

  • Nic: So. I just agreed to go on a hiking first date. Hiking on a first date – this is a bad idea, huh?
  • Steven: OK, after having read the last few chapters of your manuscript, aren’t all of your dates hiking dates? What’s the problem?
  • Nic: No. There were only two hiking dates in the book, and they were the third and second, respectively. I’ve only ever been on one hiking first date, and that was with Far-Away Guy in August and WE ALL KNOW HOW THAT TUNRED OUT.
  • Steven: Calm down.
  • Nic: I’d rather go to that new beer garden that just opened in my town! Oh my God, this guy’s not the one. The one would have automatically known to suggest the beer garden and not hiking. I should just cancel right now and save us all time.

And that’s when Steven gave me an epic eye roll and was all, “Yeah, Nic. Cancel your date because this man you’ve never met before COULDN’T READ YOUR FUCKING MIND.”

Luckily, I was astute enough to sense Steven’s sarcasm, and so I soon realized that I was being ridiculous.

Also, I remembered that I love hiking. And so I went on the date, and that was four Saturdays ago. And we had a great time, and we’ve since seen each other three more times… and that’s all I’m going to say for now, because I’m starting to think that a four-week layover period between “dating-related thing happening” and “blogging about it” is the perfect recipe for perspective.

I think I just learned how to date (and blog) like a somewhat sane person? It only took me… OK, I just started counting the years, and that shit was depressing. Never mind.

IMG_20130928_131927_648

Taken on the date in question. NOW this is probably all foliage-y… but y’know, four weeks.

I’ve Been Violated and Also Here are Some Life Updates

Um. Just when I thought the past few weeks couldn’t have been any heavier on the Internet dating absurdity, I got a text from my ex-boyfriend saying this:

  • “Hey Nic – hope your day is going well. Just wanted to give you the heads up, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think someone stole your identity again. This time on Plenty of Fish.”

And then I said:

  • “WHAT IS GOING ON SEND ME THE LINK IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHY EVERYONE DOES THIS TO ME…???!”

Here’s some background information:

Three years ago, when said boyfriend and I were still together, a friend of mine who lives in Chicago alerted me that he had come across a Facebook profile with some weird name that had a picture of me as the default.

I of course flipped out and reported the page to the site and overused the “Contact Us” feature and sent a strongly worded e-mail to Mark.Zuckerberg@facebook.com (because what if?) but then it bounced back because I guess he went to Harvard and realizes that would just be too obvious.

Luckily, my boyfriend was there to hold my hand throughout this ordeal until the profile was removed and the world made sense again.

So when last week rolled around and that same boyfriend informed me of the fact that I’ve been reverse-Catfished yet again, I experienced an epic moment of anger, déjà vu, and major ice cream consumption.

Like seriously, WTF?

I know I’m vaguely attractive in an approachable way especially if you’re drunk, but please, crazy Catfish people – if you’re going to play these ridiculous games, DO IT LIKE A NORMAL PERSON AND STEAL THE PHOTO OF AN AMATEUR MODEL.

I won’t continue on about this, because I’ve decided that I’m going to write a piece called “An Open Letter to the Guy Who Stole My Identity on Plenty of Fish” that will tell you everything you never wanted to know about this whole situation, and I’ve already said too much.

In other news, I realize that I haven’t blogged in like, weeks – so here’s what I’ve been up to:

  • Watching the OWN Network and becoming a generally positive, self-loving, self-fulfilled person. (Feel free to read this unlikely bullet point three or more times to really let it sink in.)
  • Writing dating advice columns about closeted dudes.
  • Still slaving over a hot stove my memoir on a daily basis.

I’ve also been tweeting about everything pope-related ever.

At first I didn’t really care:

#ThingsICareAboutMoreThanWhosTheNextPope

Then I was like, Okay, this smoke thing is weird, and also maybe the new pope should sashay out onto the balcony to a nineties pop hit:

Sashay

And then it was all over just a little too soon:

:(

 

My New Distrust of Online Daters is Becoming a Problem

It seems that my recent experience as an online creeper compounded with the success of MTV’s hit show Catfish, along with a dream I recently had about the Craigslist Killer, has all resulted in my new generalized distrust of the entire online dating community at large.

It’s bad.

For example, I had a date with a very attractive, somewhat older man scheduled for Sunday night, but ended up using “he could be a psychopath with a peeing fetish who wants to maim me” as an excuse to cancel our plans so I could stay home and eat Chinese food while live-tweeting the Oscars. (It was so worth it, P.S.)

We rescheduled for Friday, so you can imagine my astonishment on Tuesday morning when he texted me to see if I was free for a weekday glass of wine after work. Caught off guard and still a little hypnotized by his hot profile picture, I agreed.

Then I got to work and started over-analyzing the whole situation in three separate conversations with my work-wives Jenny, Lola, and Mila. (If you haven’t been following me for too long, allow me to explain: I’m a polygamist in my professional life.)

Here’s a composite, abridged version of all three discussions:

  • Nic: Why did he suddenly change from Friday to Tuesday? Is this what murderers do?!
  • Jenny: I mean… I don’t know. His picture seems like it could maybe be photoshopped, and that makes me not trust him.
  • Nic: You’re right. I’M HIS PREY.
  • Lola: Where’s this guy from originally?
  • Nic: Canada.
  • Lola: DON’T DO IT!
  • Nic: If tonight ends in tragedy and later becomes a Lifetime move, please tell me you’ll see to it that they cast a skinny actor to play me. He doesn’t even have to be that famous – I think it could actually be an exciting role for a young up-and-comer — you know? Someone with raw talent. But if it comes down to making a choice between raw talent and physical fitness, please go with the in-shape one.
  • Mila: John Krasinski will of course play you. Who will play me?
  • Nic: Wow, you’re so right. And oh yeah, you! You are totally a part of the arch of this story, since I first told you about this guy last night at the Solange concert.
  • Mila:
  • Nic: Okay, so Solange will make an appearance in the film as herself. And you… Mila Kunis! Yes, she so beyond Lifetime, but she’ll be so drawn to this story that she won’t be able to say no.
Is that a Nic bobble head or a John Krasinski bobble head? Hard to tell. (Ignore the V8... I don't even have an explanation.)

Is that a Nic bobble head or a John Krasinski bobble head? Hard to tell. (Ignore the V8… I don’t even have an explanation.)

So. I proceeded to Google the crap out of the limited information I had on this guy (first name, hometown, current city) and found pretty much nothing — except for a profile from some creepy looking dude on Meetup.com that had all of the same characteristics as my guy but was NOT the man from the photos. This one was scary looking and had a profile blurb that said, “I’m dissatisfied enough with real life to occasionally escape to different dimensions.

Oh. My. God – I KNOW!

I became instantly convinced that this dude was actually the guy I was talking to — because, I mean, same name, same cities, AND essentially admitting that he enjoys “playing pretend” — it was too obvious. I quickly realized that I was the target of a murderous scheme but also decided that I was too curious about the whole thing to actually cancel yet another date with him. (Plus there were no epic award shows this time to incentivize me. I mean, I guess survival would be reason enough for most people, but I apparently need to reevaluate my priorities.)

So then I thought to myself, Maybe I should have a co-worker film me engaging in conversation with someone right now so that they could later send the video to Krasinski and he could use it as “character research,” but decided against it because I figured that I was too out of sorts in the moment to really portray my natural self on camera.

So instead I spent the rest of the day answering my date’s texts in a very wary, treading-carefully-because-I’m-talking-to-a-predator kind of way, and decided that when he showed up for the date, I’d do my best to feign shock that he isn’t the guy in his pictures and then dramatically barrel out of the bar to hail a cab and have it drive me forty miles into New York and back before taking me to my real home.

And then, a few hours later, the evening finally rolled around. And I went on the date, and – thank God – I did not have to do any of the above. Because he actually was who he said he was and we hit it off and I had a fantastic time, and he wasn’t the crazy one after all — I was.

Because, of course.

 

OkCupid is Riddled with Psychos, and I’m One of Them

okc

There’s no easy way to say this, so here it goes: My friend and I have a ghost OkCupid account. I know, it’s weird and we need therapy. But this fake profile has proven itself to be immensely helpful and afforded us opportunities that simply don’t exist when playing by the standard OkCupid rules – including but not limited to:

  1. Stalking people without having them know that YOU are the one visiting their profile five times per hour day.
  2. Seeing what your real profile looks like to outsiders, and if it is listed as “replies often” or “replies selectively.”
  3. Spending inordinate amounts of time browsing profiles on the site. (Doing this from your real profile would cause your “Last Online” meter to perpetually read “Online Now,” making you look like a desperate person who probably has four cats and a freezer full of ice cream/maybe eight DiGournos – and that’s just not ideal.)

The other day I logged into this secret weapon in order to check out some dude’s pictures, and inevitably ended up combing through the profiles of every gay man in Connecticut (because what else is new?).

And then I came across a page that was hilarious, well written, and actually fun to read. And – bonus! He was really cute.

Unaccustomed to such compelling content on the site, I decided it was imperative that I send him a message. I spent a good twenty minutes coming up with something that referenced the things I liked most about his profile while simultaneously introducing myself as someone who is funny, well-read, and totally worth his hand in marriage.

Sent.

And then I went to check our compatibility match and saw that we were rated as 50% enemies. That’s weird, I thought, we’re so similar.

AND THEN.

I looked to the top of my screen and came to the earth-shattering realization that I had sent the message from the ghost account! (The ghost account, mind you, is a straight man from Tennessee with no pictures.)

Unsure of whether or not to cry or laugh or scream bloody murder, I did all three.

I tried to ask myself, “What would a normal person do to fix this?” but instantly realized that a normal person would never be in this predicament to begin with. Then I tried to ask myself, “WWJD?” but realized that Jesus would never need to create a ghost account in the first place because he’s Jesus and would probably just be like “I’m the son of God and I’m going to browse anonymously right now, and you’re going to be fine with that – okay, Cupid?”

So then I evaluated my realistic options:

  1. Send the exact same message from my real account and pray that he’d just chalk up the duplicate message to a strange OkCupid glitch.
  2. Come up with a brand new message to send him from my real account – one written in a markedly different tone than the one sent from the fake account – and hope that he’d just be like, “Hm. Two guys named Nic in the same day. Weird.”
  3. Say this: Hey – I’m about to come off as the creepiest person ever, but well, my friend and I have a ghost OkCupid account for stalking purposes… and I just accidentally sent you a message from it. I know. I need therapy. But the thought of formulating a NEW message that didn’t involve anything from the sent-from-creepy-TN-profile original message was too daunting, so I’m just coming clean.

Inexplicably, I somehow decided that number three was the best option and I sent it and I KNOW – anyone on the receiving end of a message like that should absolutely be cautious that the sender is a psychopath and probably block him or her.

In the heat of the moment, though, I ridiculously expected that he would see it and be like, “Wow, I admire this guy’s honesty. He’s keeping it real. He’s also handsome and brilliant!” and then message me with something to the effect of, “Hey, thanks for the message. You seem like someone I could spend the rest of my life with, probably. Totally okay about the ghost account; I understand. Let’s meet up for a drink sometime and maybe get married?”

Instead, I got this: Haha. Well, this profile is very different from the other.

Polite, but doesn’t exactly open the floor for me to respond with anything at all. The subtext was obviously very I’ve-seen-both-messages-and-you’re-crazy-but-I’m-just-going-to-give-a-dead-end-response-now-so-that-you-don’t-continue-to-stalk-me, but really, the fact that he responded at all is probably more closure than I deserve in this whole scenario anyways, so I guess on some level I got lucky.

What did I learn from this experience? A few things:

  1. I’m the biggest contradiction ever. Like, my sending of the overly honest second message was clearly me trying present this whole, “I’m just going to be so real with you right now. I’m that kind of person – I’m impulsive and transparent and don’t care what people think. I’m just doin’ me!” vibe to him – but someone who doesn’t care what others think would never create a ghost profile in the first place, so, yeah.
  2. Sometimes, when trying to make yourself not seem like a crazy person even though you are, it’s okay and extremely necessary to lie and take the secret with you to the grave.
  3. Life would be so much easier as a non-crazy person to begin with. (But how to become one?)

Oh and also – I really, really need to stop trying so hard.

But this we knew.

 

How Not to Impress a Guy on a First Date

This list is comprised purely of things that I actually did on a date last week:

1. Admit to not having ever traveled outside of North America.

2. Order a burger with a yolky fried egg on top of it.

3. Have the following conversation:

  • Date: How do you not have a passport?
  • Nic: I know, it’s crazy! But I’m working on it, I swear. Moving on… Burgers with fried eggs on them are the FREAKIN’ BEST. Have you ever had one?
  • Date: No.
  • Nic: Oh! So I’ve never traveled overseas, but you‘ve never had a burger with a fried egg on it. When it comes to that whole lack-of-culture-and-world-perspective thing, we’re obviously totally even.
  • Date: I don’t agree…

4. Attempt to eat a french fry and miss your mouth entirely, thereby dropping the fry on the table in a highly embarrassing and supremely awkward fashion. (Yes, that happened, and I actually lived to tell. I’m still trying to figure out what kind of award I deserve for going through such a traumatic experience — I’m thinking it should have the words “hero” and/or “survivor” in its title.)

Later that night, I gave my date a ride back to his apartment. As he began to emerge from my vehicle, I felt compelled to reach into my backseat and pull from a bag of free samples of Tide® Pods that I obtained from a generous friend who clearly has some valuable connections. I then went into full grandma-mode and said something to the effect of, “Take some Tide® home with you for your laundry. These fancy new Pods — they’re an innovation!”

I must have really liked him, because my brain was so cloudy at the time that I actually considered this behavior to be both normal and appealing.

In retrospect, I realize that I sent my date home with laundry detergent.

“I won’t put out on the first date, but I WILL send you home with some household cleaning products!”

Alternate titles for this post: “This is Why I’m Single,” “How to Channel Your Inner Grandmother While Trying to Not Scare Off a Potential Suitor on a First Date and Totally Failing,” or “I Dropped a French Fry on a Date — and I Survived.”

P.S. But seriously, have you tried Pods yet? They’re freakin’ amazing — a stain remover, detergent, and brightener all in ONE!

P.P.S. The saddest part about this post is that I am not affiliated with or working for Tide® and/or any branch of Procter & Gamble in any way. This is all purely my own doing.

 

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