Month: January 2009

Laughing at a comic isn’t always a good thing

2005

In 2002, Basketball Boy and I went out on our first date to dinner and a comedy show at the DC Improv. We saw a comic who had found success in TV and film in the 1990s, but was now doing stand-up at a small venue. He still put on a great show, though, and a few of his bits made me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt.

Three years later, Funny Boy returned to DC, and a group of us went to see him perform. I got up in the middle of the show to stretch. While in the lobby, a large, handsome man approached me. It turned out that he was Funny Boy's bodyguard, Greg. I was surprised that Funny Boy needed a bodyguard, and Greg agreed with me that he didn't. He thought that Funny Boy just liked the attention that a bodyguard attracted. Interesting. Greg and I talked during much of the show, and he asked if I wanted to go out for a drink afterward. I had plans with my friends that night, but I told Greg that I would call him before he left town.

Two nights later, I was driving back from an Orioles game and decided to see what Greg was up to. Funny Boy was starting his show soon, and Greg suggested that I come by the Improv to grab a drink. I arrived at the club and was glad that I did. I spent most of the night hanging out with the opening comic and Greg in the back of the venue, and we had a blast.

After Funny Boy was done, he came to the back and looked at me. He asked if I would come out with him and some friends to a nearby lounge. I wanted to spend more time with Greg, and thought Funny Boy would be well, funny, so I said sure.

Funny Boy had also invited some other girls to the lounge. From their outfits, it appeared as though they were in the entertainment industry. I don't mean that with judgment behind it, but it's not that tough to spot strippers in an Ann Taylor/Banana Republic/J Crew town like DC.

We arrived at the lounge and one of Funny Boy's friends from high school joined us. He also had asked a pretty, petite Indian girl to meet him there. She seemed very sweet and brought along two of her friends. So, there we were at the table: Funny Boy, the bodyguard, three petite Indian girls, the high school friend, two strippers and me. Remember that game on Sesame Street — which one of these is not like the other? Well, at this table, I definitely didn't blend, but that didn't phase me.

The strippers kept going to the bathroom to powder their noses. The powder was not the type that you could purchase at a cosmetic counter. The sweet girl that Funny Boy had invited seemed uncomfortable, but at least she had her friends with her. I talked a lot with Greg and the high school friend, and the mood lightened (and livened) up when we all started dancing.

I took a break from the dance floor, and Funny Boy and I started talking one-on-one. He said that he was attracted to me. I responded,

"Thanks. That surprises me, though, since I'm not your type."

"Why would you say that?" he asked.

"Because I'm not a petite Indian girl or a stripper."

"Well, you are the girl I want to leave with."

I was flattered, but I also tried not to think too much of it. I felt as though he was attracted to me because I seemed like a challenge. And, I wasn't sure if I was even attracted to him.

We left the lounge, and one of the strippers was so out of it that she could barely walk. Funny Boy told Greg to make sure that they were okay and take them home. (I realize that Funny Boy was paying Greg, but I would hope that my friends wouldn't task someone else with helping me out if I wasn't feeling well.)

Funny Boy and I walked to his hotel around the corner, and he invited me up to his suite in The Mayflower for a drink. I told him that I would be happy to join him for a drink, but that I wasn't going to sleep with him. He was fine with that, and suggested that I meet him upstairs in ten minutes.

In ten minutes, Funny Boy had turned on light jazz, lit candles in both rooms and changed into a t-shirt and flannels. He became very intense, very quickly. I was talking about how I hoped that the girls were ok. I asked if the drinks were very strong at the lounge, and Funny Boy got very defensive, insisting that he doesn't drink alcohol. (OK. Fine. Calm down, buddy.) He was heading to New York City after DC, and I made some silly comment with a Brooklyn accent. Then, he got very offended.

"Why are you doing impressions?" Funny Boy inquired.

"Umm…because it's funny. I say things in different accents all the time," I replied.

"You are not a comedian. You are not supposed to make jokes. I am a comedian. That's what I do."

"Umm…ok."

I wasn't sure if I was interested in Funny Boy before I went up to his room, but now I knew that I wasn't attracted to him. Within a minute, he got on top of me and started kissing me. He was one of those kissers who just sticks his tongue down your throat with no skill, direction or passion. I sensed by the movement in his flannel pants that he was excited, but each second with his tongue so far down my throat was one too many. I felt as though I was at the doctor's office and he was checking to see if I had strep. Eww!

I excused myself soon after that. As I exited the hotel, Greg called and we had a nice talk. Greg was articulate, caring and fun. If he didn't live in LA, I would have gone out with him again. Funny Boy, by contrast, gave me his number, and I promptly deleted it. It's a good thing when a guy makes me laugh because of his humor and personality. It's not a good thing when a guy makes me laugh because of how he kisses.

It’s a Dick in my In Box!

Last spring, I finally came to the realization that Internet dating is not for me. I've done it a few times over the years, but I've found that the guys I meet online typically fall into one of two groups:

1. Want to get married and/or have children ASAP. Such a cavalier approach to something as serious as marriage freaks me out. I am in no rush to get married, and want to really know someone well before I stand in front of him and say that, "Yes. This is forever." When guys from online sites talk about relationships and commitments by the second date, I never stick around for the third; or

2. Just want to get laid. Now, I'm fine if people are up front about that, but don't place or respond to an ad about a relationship, when you really just want a casual encounter.

Tennis Boy fell into the second category, although I had initially thought we were looking for the same things when we met in 2007. He was well educated, attractive, international and athletic. Our first date consisted of taking his dog for a long walk in the park. He seemed respectful and considerate — to both the dog and me. I don't keep a tally as to how well a date is going, but if I did, he would have scored quite a few points.

For our second date later that week, we went to a lounge. Again, he did and said everything right. Conversation with him was easy, and he had a good sense of humor. He paid for my drinks. He walked me to my car at the end of the night. He gave me the tiniest kiss on the lips (closed mouth). He was heading out of town the following week and then I was going to be out of town, but we planned to see each other when I got home.

Two weeks later, I was back in DC, but he had a bad cold. We texted and e-mailed a few times, and I figured that we would eventually go out again. I wasn't pressed about it, though.

So, imagine my surprise, when I saw that I had an e-mail from him at 1am. The subject was "I'm thinking of you," and there was an attached photo. I clicked on it, and stared at my computer screen with a look of shock on my face.

Tennis Boy had sent me a photo of himself naked. If you think this might have been an artistic or subtle shot, think again. He took the picture from the neck down and in the center of the shot was his hard dick. Tennis Boy was sitting on a stool as he was posing, and in the background was his disgustingly dirty kitchen floor.

When I told a friend the story, she asked, "How did his dick look?" I guess that didn't even matter to me since the e-mail was so inappropriate that I just deleted it. Another friend commented, "It is never a good thing to send genitalia pics online." For serious! How did he go from Mr. Chivalry to Mr. Dick in my In Box?

I didn't reply to that e-mail, but he wrote me again. He intimated that he thought I was more open to those kind of things. Eww! Again, I didn't reply.

I was telling the story to a few friends at a local bar, when one of my boys said, "Wait a minute. Is his name…?" Yep. From the basic information that I shared at the bar, my friend knew the guy, and was not necessarily surprised that he did this.

Well, I guess I should feel lucky to have gotten out when I did. Someone else can deal with Tennis Boy, his fetish for unattractive naked self-portraits, and that gross kitchen.

Nothing says a first date like The Port Authority

I went on Match.com for a few weeks last March. Some of my friends in NYC had been using the site, and I thought it would be a fun diversion from Lawyer Boy. If you’ve read my entries about Brooklyn Boy, you know that one match was a bust. Mr. Port Authority is the other guy I met through the site.

From his profile, Mr. Port Authority was totally my type. He looked so much like my ex-boyfriend, Matt, that it was almost freaky. He also loved sports and was preparing to start his surgical residency. (My hospital stories are almost as entertaining as my dating stories so I tend to hit it off with people in the medical profession.)

We spoke several times over the phone, and I was preparing to see him when I got back to DC. In our last call, he asked me to leave NYC early or go back to DC for just a night, which I viewed as illogical and too eager. I don’t understand guys who get so clingy before we’ve even set eyes on each other.

I tried to look past this yellow flag since I was interested in meeting him. Two days later, I was at the hair salon in NYC, when I got a text from him:

“I’m in NYC for the day! Want to get together?”

We started texting back and forth, and he said that he was in the City to drop some info off at hospitals and to try to see me. Hmm….the Cling-O-Meter is rising and that’s not a good thing.

I knew enough about the residency match process to know that the results were coming out in a week. This guy is clearly not Type A or anything close to that if he waits to speak with hospitals until the 11th hour. His stock is falling since I’m far too motivated to deal with someone who isn’t at least a Type B.

I asked him where he was and he threw out an address that was THREE blocks from my family’s apartment in NYC. I exhaled and tried to convince myself that this was just a coincidence. I don’t remember if I told him where in NYC my family lived, but it was a tad creepy.

“Where were you thinking of meeting up?” I texted.

“What if we meet at The Port Authority for a hug and coffee before my bus leaves?”

The Port Authority? Who wants to meet someone for the first time at The Port Authority? That building is just one notch above a sewage treatment plant. My friend, Amy, summed it up perfectly when she said, “Does he want to kidnap you and take you to New Jersey?”

I decided to pass on this tempting offer [insert sarcastic eye roll here] and suggested that we wait to meet until we were both back in DC. By this point, my friends thought he was a stalker. I thought he was needy and socially-awkward. Regardless, Mr. Port Authority was making Mr. Starbucks look good, and that’s not saying much.