On Line Dating Update or A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Haven’t blogged in a long time and haven’t dated in a long time either however not to fear I have not been sitting on the side lines waiting for a hunky temp to cover vacation leave for our UPS dude, no I have been quietly dabbling online within the free OKCupid universe where I sadly average a 40:1 ratio. I send out 40 charming witty emails, I receive one unsolicited illiterate email. However a few weeks ago I received an email from a gent that was extremely well written and shockingly entertaining. Hmm…. interesting.

I have been burnt before by a well written email (remember Vet Tech, Summer 2009?), so I wasn’t gonna fall for that crap again. Modern day faceless/ voiceless electronic communication has given a voice to those men/ boys who have never masterred real world socialization. With the use of millions of tiny zeros and ones flying through the World Wide Web these knobs have finely crafted a universe where they are actually charismatic and charming, luring me with promises of sarcastic wit, lively banter, and hearty belly laughs. This dear readers is a lie. For in the RW (real world) these electronic Cyranos are a pile of sludge unable to dress themselves, complete a sentence, or in Vet Tech’s case, have enough self confidence to order me a drink. Therefore when I received this well crafted email several weeks ago my bull shit meter was engaged. I countered immediately with a very direct response hoping I would thwart a repeat of my past over confidence in the written word to woo.

It has now been a several weeks since the first email plopped into my inbox and he has yet to ask me out for a cup of coffee, really? As I sit here in my empty office about to pull the plug on this ever increasingly boring ping pong of endless email exchanges I reach out to you, the cheering throngs, forever hopping that one day I will have a second date with a man NOT wearing belted leather sports jacket and ask for your input. Maybe I am jaded? Maybe I am self sabotaging? Maybe I’m not being open enough to the universe? Because of all these internal monologs, and many more, I am handing over the power for you to decide HOW and IF I continue this relentless electronic courtship. Below please find excerpts from our OKCupid private messaging sessions and let me know if you would like to see me pursue this mystery man or call his bluff.

June 22nd
Message from Agrumpyman
Your profile is truly fantastic, well written and passionately presented. In fact, it is superb…. film and music buff, loves sarcasm almost as much as food and wine and good conversation, and is in a giddy state because of your truly lovely profile…..

Me - Your “OKC” handle combined with your lack of photo are a bit disconcerting… however I could not resist replying to your most complimentary electronic missive…

Agrumpyman - I am sorry to hear you find my humourous profile name disconcerting; it is but merely to evoke mirth and merriment upon the OKC elite. … apologise for the lack of picture; it is a choice not to be available for perusal by the OKC unwashed masses during their moments of boredom… offer a view…to those who are interested and more than a little intrigued by my resemblance to abominable snowmen and horned quadripeds……

(we exchanged two more rounds of well written banter)

June 24th
Me - ….I have decided that I can no longer ping pong this email banter until I see photos…

Agrumpyman …..(link to private site with tightly cropped head shot) you will see my carefully coiffed beardedness and scream in horror. Once you have absorbed the initial shock and resigned yourself to despondency, please feel free to pen a short missive describing the scars left by the big reveal…..

Me - These emails are a fun distraction however I do have to mention your propensity for self deprecation is a bit unflattering…… Your withholding of photos (the one you released is smaller than my passport photo) combined with your continuous self loathing gives an impression that you either have body issues and or self esteem issues, neither of these qualities is something I am looking for in a cohort…. By stating (even jokingly) that I would be repulsed by the sight of you, you are deliberately under valuating yourself and assuming that I am shallow – I am not shallow but I know what I like; confidence and power, not victim passivity.

Agrumpyman - … So what you perceive as a propensity to self flog is nothing of the kind, it all serves to create witty banter, tamp down on the excesses of raging egomania and helps position oneself in relation the world's absurdities…. I maintain a healthy, perhaps even overdeveloped, sense of worth, self and my position in the world. Now, I admit I do not know how to present that through here, as I thought that self deprecation is the correct way...Other than meeting you for a coffee when I return from vacation, please do suggest what else might be appropriate. You mentioned my picture being too small… I look exactly the same in all other photographs…perhaps another picture showing the exact same things at different size would work?...I think you have put a somewhat impossible task on me…so, pointers please…

(some days later after a pleading email from agrumpyman)

July 1
Me- Re photo: It’s the cropping that is miniscule, not the size…. I have publically posted a good deal of photos in different situations and even a full body shot and all I get from you is a TIGHTLY cropped face shot. In this age of the www dating when so many wack-a doodles are flooding the market it is a bit of a red flag when a dude is really cagey about presenting an image (or several) that fully expresses his persona. It’s part of the package, brains plus the physical, and it does makes a statement when one withholds a big chunk of the a comprehensive illustration.

Agrumpyman - … As I am in my beloved European homeland right now and not coming back for a couple of weeks I would urge your patience till I can either get back home…and reach for the digital vaults or conjure up a new photo here… I can assure you that you will be amply rewarded as soon as feasible on this end.

July14
Agrumpyman - I have returned to deafening silence…

Me- According to my home scoring sheet the ball is still on your side of the court. You may want to review your last communication for I believe you will see a proposed promise….

(Last email received yesterday)
Agrumpyman - You remain funny but it is customary… to reply to one's missive, whether it is bearing gifts or not…so what kind of restitution should be exacted in order for the cosmic balance to be upheld?

Ok Kids start your judging – is it a red flag that he persistently refuses to post a full detailed photo after I have repeatedly stated that this is an issue (he could be married and hiding his identity or worse has the propensity for wearing a masters of the universe neck tie) or do I throw caution to the wind?

How To Stop a European In Their Tracks

It’s summer season and the city is flooded with pond jumpers. With the Euro falling like a lead pig I would have thought the fanny packed chain smoking tight pants wearing throngs would have kept close to leur maison…ehhh not so much.

Us city dwellers have a long history of dealing with our influx of tourists, sure we NEED them for the economy BUT really can’t Bloomberg corral them into Times Square and let them wander ‘round aimlessly with their Abercrombie & Fitch shopping bags and sun burnt heads tilted towards the sky? Believe me they will be happy little clams and return from whence they came overflowing with wondrous tales of the big city.

Unfortunately the reality is they are among us, commingling on our sidewalks and mass transit. For decades we’ve shared our public spaces with these world travelers and have become accustomed to their inexplicable lack of movement when faced with the precariously daunting exercise of ascending or descending a staircase or escalator. Yes moving up and or down is very risky behavior and all New Yorkers expect you (and your brood) to immediately cease all movement once you’ve reached either the top or bottom landing of any stepped edifice, however what the CRAP is up with the doorway thing?

Through my non-scientific research I have discovered that Europeans are deathly afraid of doorways, these gateways to the unknown have so boggled the minds of our international guests that I am certain if I Google Earthed the Continent I would discover bewildered locals amassed on either side of the Arc de Triomphe, the Brandenburg Gate, and the Arch of Constantine. Or maybe they reserve this behavior solely for overseas travel, la how jolly. For there is nothing quite like entering an establishment behind a family of 5 only to be denied admission due to the defensive line of immobility. Or while exiting being greeted by the couple who took one step outside then decided the doorframe would be the PERFECT location for a smoke and chat.

This afternoon after squeezing past dozens of frozen foreigners (‘cause not even a gentle “excuse me” can propel them back into motion) I took matters (and a door) into my own hands.

While attempting to exit a shop on Lexington Ave I was trapped behind a bedazzled Italian couple who not only allowed the door slam behind them (nice – in my face) but then stood directly in front of the glass door blocking all pedestrian traffic both in and out of the establishment. The backup began to grow on the sidewalk with frustrated customers trying to sidestep ‘round our stationary interlopers, meanwhile I was poised, hand firmly on the push bar, with at least 4 women behind me audibly grunting their disapproval. This is not my proudest moment (or maybe it is) but I swung the door open making full contact with Rudolpho’s back and right shoulder (goooaaaaal) forcing him to pivot just enough to allow the rushing dam waters of annoyed NYers to push past him and his Metallic Graphic T wife.

Where has the time gone?

I know it’s awful, I have really let this blogging thing go to the dogs, but strangely enough NOTHING bizarre has happened in my life.

I’ve stopped internet dating, not because I’ve found my bo-hunk but because the daily influx of illiteratatti combined with MONTHS of non-matching/ non- responses was turning your favorite Sweet Polly Sunshine into a bitter crab apple.

The weather is finally cooperating after 26 months of cold dampness, fingers crossed, I may return to my luscious brown nuttiness.

The apartment is holding together and I weathered the false Bed Bug scare like a champ – after space bagging my entire abode ala E.T. home style then totally falling apart into tears.

My job is fantastic, The Lady thinks I am a super star and through my amazing mind control I have convinced her that buying new uber fancy office chairs and closing the office at 1pm on Fridays were both her ideas. However last week I was back to my old tricks again when I accidently pinned her behind the office door thereby smashing her very dainty hand– gulp.

So all is swell, spending tons of time with good pals, traveling, being awarded with the Key To The City, and just this past weekend I was proposed to by another Gay! So this now makes the tally 4 engagements; 3 gay and one underage straight. Funny these boys just blurt out proposals yet NONE of them have ever presented a ring, I am beginning to think this whole thing is a hoax.

Oh Little Butterfly

Last night I returned to my ol’ stomping grounds, NYC Opera, to catch a night of gut wrenching operatic fanfare. The place looks spiffy with its sleek new box office but what was Mr. Koch thinking with those new seats!? During my tenure in production I logged plenty of rehearsal hours, both consciously note taking and much to the chagrin of several directors shamelessly napping, to know the uber comfort of the State Theater’s Orch Row S’s plush seats however now in the newly renovated house I could hardly wedge my “lusciousness” between the arm rests and because of the very low narrow seat backs my shoulders were tenuously hovering between those of my neighboring seat mates. No I did not widen - actually I have shrunken. I am certain that this rump space reduction is solely the result of the installation of narrower seats to make up for the loss of several rows due to the orchestra pit extension. I guess we all have to sacrifice a bit for the arts.

Anyways after some wiggling I squished myself down into the hip vice, a.k.a. Seat 35, and settled in for 3 hours of broken hearted Japanese girl vs. douche bag American sailor. Good lord Pinkerton, could you be more if an irresponsible a-hole? Butterfly totally cut him a deal (spoiler alert) with Pinkerton only serving a life time sentence of guilt for Butterfly’s honorable death. Now a-days you know Butterfly would be all up in the Us Weekly with a headline, “Benjamin Franklin is my Baby’s Daddy!”, or Suzuki would be releasing their ‘secretive’ sex tape the day before Pinkerton’s admiral promotion. Ahhh how the times have changed.

Pipers Pipes are Piping

After several $4 mimosas I still had some time to kill before the “St. Pat’s For All Parade” so I continued my journey of discovery westward towards a mass of barricades and balloon arches. Along my lazy stroll to the land of orange , green and white I overheard two police woman discussing the parade protestors that were gathering at the end of the block – hmm really. So I squared my shoulders, puffed out my chest and marched down the street to confront these exclusionary zealots. However once arriving at my destination I discovered to my surprise the colorful crowd at the end of the block was not a crew of hateful sour pusses but a party of practicing pipers and the most perfect troupe of traditional Irish dancers ever assembled for an “all inclusive” St. Patrick’s Day parade. These tiny tappers decked out perfectly in Celtic garb hailed from the Bronx and were the best African American Islamic step dancers ever to congregate on Skillman Ave. So with no anti-fun protesters in sight and the sounds of pipers piping at my back I returned eastward to stake out a perfect vantage spot along the parade route.

A few blocks down the sun drenched route I eyed the most excellent curb for parade viewing, super tall for good tusch to knee bend ratio with a slender patch of grass to aid in comfort….ahhh perfect. My fellow curbside attendees were adorable, young families decked out in green with babies in Aryan Island sweaters, silver headed grandparents seated in beach chairs festooned in tweed with clover pinned to their lapels, pretty boys and hipster girls frolicking with giant green mardi gras beads, this was a REAL hometown St. Patrick’s day. No drunken stupidity, no pushy “out of towners”, just a conglomerate of neighbors joined together to support…..everything.

Of course wherever there is fun, love, and open embracement of all things wonderful there has to be a villain…damn you villains! While I sat there basking in the sun and contemplating the comedic/heartwarming value of the Asian family across the street purchasing Irish flags and green bejeweled headbands this old hag appeared with two shopping bags bulging with signs proclaiming that the world would end because of the parade – or something like that. Dressed in a floor length black coat, orthotic shoes, and sporting reading glasses that covered ¾ of her face she quietly planted herself behind my line of curb dwellers and set out her cacophony of hatred. At first I thought I should move because I did not want to be mistaken for a supporter but then I decided to hold my ground and fight for my right to LIKE PEOPLE.

Her goolish troupe grew over the next 15 minutes, each one more ridiculous, grubby, and dismal. Some of my happy families removed themselves from the area (who wants their child sitting under a sign that says SODOMY!) but as they gently guided their babies westward their empty spaces were filled with the most spectacular crew of Chilean gays. HA - ha! Yep if you ever wondered how to combat a six member septuagenarian posse of gay bashers ship in a bus load of gay Latins – now that’s a party!
The parade finally started with Mayor Mike at the helm and the crowd was on their feet clapping, whistling, and yahooing for all the participants. Of course our feeble filth mongers tried to shout smut at the marchers but really….did they think they could compete with me and my gleeful loudmouth – HA! The louder they yelled their nastiness the louder we applauded and cheered. We even got two police officers assigned to our area who strategically stood directly in front of the grotesque signs blocking their sightline to the marchers. Whoops were they doing that? Thanks coppers! Their favorite cat call was “SHAME!” but they yelled it at everybody, they even yelled it at the yarmulke wearing bagpipe band from NYU. I couldn’t resist so I shouted, “Is it that NYU is shameful or that bagpiping is shameful cause now you are just confusing us? You should really just stick to one thing, screaming shame at everything is diluting your hate statement”. The Latin boys loved that. One of them yelled at the guy with the sodomy sign, “Oh you are very brave…having that sign in this crowd is dangerous”. And all was right with the world again.

As the parade went on we boogied with a Caribbean band, sang along with a New Orleans inspired brass ensemble, cheered for the throngs of pipers, and were totally entertained by a group of Mexican (?) dancers decked out in spangles, cowboy boots and sleigh bells. It was the best all inclusive St. Patrick’s Day parade ever

I Love a Parade

Saturday night on my way to a canine quinceanera in Brooklyn I noticed my local boys in blue dumping a truck load of crowd control stanchions on my corner. This could only mean one of two things, Woodside ran out of Guinness and was about to riot or we were hosting a parade. Thank goodness it was the later.

After a few clicks on the ol’ blackberry I was quickly informed that Sunday marked the 11th year of the “Woodside/ Sunnyside St. Patrick’s for All Parade” – 11 years? Really? How have I NEVER attended this parade? It marches right up to my block, I’m a bad resident. However through deeper googleing I realized that not only is this a St. Patrick’s Day parade but it is also a GAY St. Patrick’s Day parade – bonus! (for more info http://www.stpatsforall.com/ )

Sunday was glorious. Warm sun, bright blue sky, just as if Spring decided to wake up and drool its yummy goodness all over NYC. I donned my green cardigan (that has become one with body since arriving at Hanukkah), green long sleeve T, green scarf and just before I slipped into my green penny loafers I paused and thought…. ehhh maybe too much and went with the black ballet flats. Restraint is something one does not find often in “theme” wardrobe choices however I try to retain a smattering of outer borough chic.

Down the 4 flights of stairs (which are currently dripping with black/ brown tar – what the F$#%^$^CK!?) and out into the wilds of Queens, I decided to take a little adventure après parade in hopes of discovering the mysteries of “Sunnyside Gardens”. You see during my Woodside parade fact finding google-fest I stumbled onto a blog that sang the praises of several eateries that coincidently lined the parade route so I thought – why not think global, act local – and hang a left at the end of block.

A few blocks into my Skillman Ave. discovery zone I realized that I lived just steps away from an entire enclave of hip “Williamsburg wannabees” and “Park Slope-ish” families who spend their Sundays lounging over the NY Times at cute cafes or amassing to brunch at comer bistros. It was like I discovered that the land of Oz was right outside my door (well really it was LEFT outside my door, but you know what I mean). I felt so good about my new (to me) neighborhood that I popped into Quaint, planted myself at the bar and ordered up a $4.00 mimosa.

While enjoying my afternoon libation, I was thinking about how cool it was that out of all the neighborhoods in all of the 5 boroughs it was MINE that hosted the All Inclusive (and homosexual) St. Pat’s parade. I mean really, its blue color Woodside we are talking about here, with a HUGE Catholic Irish (off the boat) population, not your usual demographic for openly embracing diversity. Yet as I sat at the bar embracing my adoptive Queens hometown peeps my inner glow was quickly dimmed when to my dismay I discovered through some blackberry googeling, blogs/ web postings that spewed hatred and ugliness regarding the upcoming festivities. Really people, thanks for the gray cloud. But my Parade Sunday could not be ruined that easily, this news only reinvigorated my Irish/ Woodside spirit with the hope that I alone would emanate so much good cheer and joy that I would negate any and all who arrived to rain on my Big Gay Irish Queens Parade!

A tale of two stories

Just when I think I own the rights to the life ridiculous Swason comes along and one ups me.
This past Valentine's Day after receiving a 10 minute heads up from my long term booty call I was frantically shoveling three days worth of dirty laundry into my closets, hiding the boxes of take out Chinese leftovers and attempting to rid my body of all offending hair that had accumulated since returning from Florida in mid – January. While double fisting my Barbasol and Lady Gillette, “The Flight of the Bubble Bees” screamed through my cranium. However while I was the lead player in my very own version of Beat The Clock (booty edition) little did I know Swason was just a few miles away spending a way too sober evening at a fondue party going toe to toe with a drunken douchebag. Swason, the ever emphatic competitor, had been reduced to a frustrated party goer when she was forced into participating in what may have been the lamest party gaming experience ever. Meanwhile back in my apartment with the clock ticking down and still half covered in shaving cream I quickly realized that I would have to opt for dim lighting and creative slight of hand to redirect attention from my hot-messness. Now back to Swason – after a few apathetic rounds of the party game, “Challenge”, Swason’s nemesis announced, “It’s time for a push up contest!!!” What the what? What kind of grown man says this? But the odd thing is, nobody stopped him or even suggested that the living room of a one bedroom Astoria apartment during a fondue party may not be the best venue for such a competition. Over in Woodside with my head full of shampoo and ¼ of my left leg still fuzzy my phone rang….really? I didn’t even try to grab it, no time… NO TIME!! But it kept ringing…ughhhh so I slopped my way out of the bathroom and across the living room praying that I wouldn’t short out my phone as I pressed the speaker button and yelled “YES!?”. Faintly my Booty Call’s voice traveled up from my blackberry, “Hey I’m here”, I feigned enthusiasm, “Ok great, come on up”, he responded, “Ummm I can’t, I’m in the taxi and I Umm…I don’t have my wallet”. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? Swason’s got a guy challenging a group of melted cheese laden drunkards to a pushup contest and I got my Booty Call phoning me from the street begging me to bail him out of a $26 cab ride. Now as if this could not get any better (better may not be the correct word choice) as Swason’s iron man prepped for his first set he announced, “Ok are we gonna do this thing, or what?! Cause if we are gonna do this, let’s do it the RIGHT WAY!!!” and as he finished his battle cry he kicked off his shoes and removed his PANTS. Yes, now Swason was attending a fondue party in Queens with a man competing against an imaginary foe in a pushup contest while only wearing boxer briefs.
Flash-forward to 1am, I was biding adieu to my paramour and 17 more dollars so he could get his sorry broke ass home (did I just pay for a male prostitute?) while Swason was held hostage in her hosts’ kitchen because the duchebag had positioned himself directly between Swason and the apartment door while engaged in a full on knock down screaming match with the hostess. But Swason, forever pragmatic, helpful, and a preeminent avoider of conflict turned her focus on a sink full of dirty dishes and for the next hour washed every last dish.
And that is how 2 single thirty somethings spent St. Valentine's Day 2010 under the bright lights of the big city.